


Best Laid Plans

by faintlyfreckled



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-07
Updated: 2012-07-07
Packaged: 2017-11-09 08:33:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/453472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faintlyfreckled/pseuds/faintlyfreckled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You know what they say about the best laid plans. The Winchesters are not immune. (Takes place after 'No Rest for the Wicked')</p>
            </blockquote>





	Best Laid Plans

Lillith vacated her meat suit, running like the coward she was when she wasn’t able to vaporize Sam like she wanted. Sam didn’t know why she couldn’t, but it was the least of his worries right now.

Right now, his brother’s body was lying feet from him looking like he’d gone through a meat grinder. Unconscious, Sam thinks, then the voice in the back of his head supplies, dead.

Dean’s dead. Not only that, but dragged down to Hell because of him. Sam kneels beside Dean’s body, gripping at the strips of fabric that once covered Dean’s broad chest and buries his face in his brother’s shoulder. The tears are instantaneous and keep coming. Sam isn’t sure how long he sits holding his brother’s body, cradling his entire life in his lap.

“Dean,” he whispers into Dean’s cropped haircut. The hairs tickling his flesh so much like they used to when he was wrapped up in Dean’s arms. He even attempts to slide Dean’s limp limbs around him, trying to get that feeling back, but Dean’s growing cold now and he’s got a job to do.

He’s got to spring his brother out of Hell.

With much more grace than Sam had anticipated, he lifts Dean into his arms and carries him out to the Impala. The backseat holds so many memories, both good and bad, Sam adding another as he maneuvers Dean into the leather seats. He almost looks like he’s sleeping if you can ignore the deep gashes spreading like cracks in the Earth across Dean’s torso. The spattering of blood on Dean’s cheeks and forehead are distracting Sam from the illusion.

He drives to Bobby’s, not knowing much else to do. The older man doesn’t say a word when he arrives, even keeps his mouth shut when Sam brings Dean’s body in from the car and lays him out on his kitchen table. Dean looks a mess, as he should, but Bobby simply shakes his head and walks away.

Bobby couldn’t talk some sense into Dean when this whole mess started and he sure as hell doesn’t think Sam will be any different.

First, Sam cleans Dean’s face with keen attention to detail. The freckles revealing themselves in a brilliant golden brown. Sam notices that Dean’s face is much paler than it ever has been, but buries that fact deep in his gut. He’s well passed tears at this point, his only focus cleaning his brother up.

Next, he slides Dean’s jacket away using the utmost care. He has a wild thought of not wanting to hurt Dean, but a second later he’s reminded of how ludacris that is. Bobby returns, hovering in the doorway and Sam offers him a quick glance before returning to his work. “What?”

“Sam,” Bobby says, his voice strained. “I know you—”

“No, I gotta do this, Bobby. Don’t waste your breath.” Sam directs back, not tearing his attention away from clipping Dean’s t-shirt carefully away from the shredded bits of skin.

“The pyre ain’t gonna care what he looks like.”

Sam’s actions still, closing his eyes as he desperately clings to his sanity. He can see Dean burning up in a sea of flames, the life drained out of his eyes, only it isn’t a funeral pyre he’s imagining. “No,” Sam replies finally, shaking his head. “I’m not burning the body. He’ll need it when—”

“Boy, don’t you finish that sentence.” Bobby orders, stepping closer and taking the scissors from Sam’s hands. Sam lets him take them, he’s finished with them anyway. “You heard Dean, he doesn’t want you doing this.”

By then, Sam has already began the task of cleaning the ribbons of flesh much like he would to heal Dean. With a clean cloth and a bottle of alcohol, he cleaned the blood from every possible surface of Dean’s chest. It would take hours, he knew, but it didn’t phase him one bit.

“I’m not burning my brother, Bobby.” Sam uttered after a while, his voice full of conviction. The tone made it clear he didn’t want to hear anything Bobby had to say, so the older man sighed loudly and walked away, mumbling the phrase ‘idjits, the lot of you’ under his breath.

Sam ignores Bobby and continues working as if he wasn’t interrupted. It makes for hours of busy work that Sam is more than happy to do. His touch is delicate, almost hearing Dean’s sarcastic protests of pain and discomfort. The words slurring as his brother self medicates with a bottle of top notch whiskey for the occasion. When he reaches the halfway point, somewhere around Dean’s abs, Sam realizes that he’s crying again.

He takes a break, going out to the car to get Dean’s duffel and chooses some clean clothes. The plan is to redress Dean and bury him in a location he hopes won’t get disturbed until he can figure this thing out.

“I’m gonna get you back, Dean.” Sam whispers into the crook of Dean’s neck, breathing him in. He still smells like Dean; of leather, gunpowder and something entirely his own. He smells like home and Sam chokes back a loud sob as he finishes cleaning the wounds.

At first, he wants to dress them with clean gauze but after thinking it through there doesn’t seem to be much point. Dean’s no longer bleeding, and, once he’s in the ground Sam won’t be able to change them out for him anyway. What the hell am I doing?, he asks himself, grabbing a fistful of his hair and collapsing to the floor against the kitchen cabinets.

“You make me crazy, you jerk.” Sam chokes out, wiping his nose on his wrist as he wishes with all he’s got to hear Dean’s voice call him a bitch just one… more… time. Then he collects himself, slips a clean black t-shirt over Dean’s head and leads his arms through the sleeves. By now, Dean’s joints aren’t nearly as cooperative, but Sam makes do with the motion he still has.

He undresses Dean and tries not to get overwhelmed by the onslaught of memories. Sam remembers these same motions, removing Dean’s jeans, exposing the naked skin to him, only this time is much different than that. Dean’s no longer warm. He’s not making the gritty noises he once did. Dean’s no longer here.

Once Dean’s body has been redressed, Sam takes a moment to relish in what he’s accomplished before collecting his brother’s body in his arms again. Still feels solid, almost inviting, but it’s not the same.

Replacing Dean in the backseat, Sam slides into the driver’s seat, looking at Dean’s reflection in the rearview mirror. “Hang on, Dean. I’m coming for you,” he promises, starting the engine and pulling away from the old salvage yard.


End file.
